


youth

by vivthepinkninja



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Grief, Minor Injuries, Other, Smoking, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-02 20:50:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12734070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivthepinkninja/pseuds/vivthepinkninja
Summary: It's been one year since Jeremy committed suicide. His friends and family are struggling to cope on the anniversary of his death.





	youth

**Author's Note:**

> this is based off an animatic i made, link- https://youtu.be/C36PbSqnw5E  
> please check it out if you enjoyed this fic!!!

_ One year _ .

 

It’s been an entire year since Jeremiah Heere died, and all Michael Mell can do is sit on his front porch, smoke, and cry. It’s like even time he closes his eyes he can see Jeremy’s dorky grin, the way he laughs. The way he  _ laughed _ . He can’t quite remember what his voice sounds like, not entirely. It’s fragmented, and he knows he can listen to it if he really does forget, but so far he’s convinced himself he remembers every bit of Jeremy.

Christine, however, knows better. She always was the reasonable one, between the three of them, and she’d admitted to herself she forgot what his laugh sounded like. All she could hear in her head was the soft, heartbroken voice, the one he used for the last conversation they’d ever had. She stared off blankly, even in her community college theatre class, and she couldn’t wait to get off campus. It felt like she couldn’t breathe, and she wasn’t sure she could. She sent a text to Michael.

_ Text _ . Jenna Rolan is rereading the text messages she and Jeremy exchanged. They were mostly meaningless, simple texts about where the friend group was going to meet up, but she couldn’t help herself from scrolling. When she reached the last ones he ever sent to her, she couldn’t help the tears that stung in her eyes.  _ Thank you for all your stories, Jen. I’m so sorry. Keep on telling them <3 _ . It had thrown her off, immediately replying with question marks. She eventually shrugged it off, until Christine texted her to ask if she knew where Jeremy was, or what he was doing. She hadn’t.

Christine walked home with Brooke. They had taken the same class on projecting voice in performances. Brooke didn’t remember what day it was, Christine knew immediately. Brooke was her usual, bubbly self. She was alive and breathing, while Christine’s lungs were on fire. When Brooke turned and offered to take her to Pinkberry on the way home, despite the cold weather, Christine politely declined, and struggled not to cry. The two went their separate ways.

Rich had been walking home when he smelled smoke coming from the Mell household, and froze. He glanced at the porch, his eyes full of concern, and he wasn’t exactly any more relieved when he spotted Michael sitting, smoking a cigarette. A  _ cigarette _ . 

“Hey.” Rich’s voice was soft, even though he knew Michael didn’t like to be treated so delicately. He needed it today. 

“Hey.” Michael replied, coughing slightly, as Rich sat down beside him. They were silent, even after Rich reached over to grab one from the box. He couldn’t light it, though. His hands were too shaky for that.

Michael lit it for him, and the two continued in silence. There wasn’t anything that needed to be said, nothing that could be to make the situation any better.

Jake Dillinger smelled the smoke off his boyfriend’s clothes the moment he got to their small apartment. He could smell it everywhere, all over, and he felt sick to his stomach when Rich stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. 

“I thought you were quitting,” Jake said softly, not accusingly, but at least confrontive. 

Rich turned, biting his lip. “I am, love. Today was a…  _ special occasion _ .” He couldn’t look Jake fully in the eyes. 

Jake was quiet. The silence seemed to weigh on Rich, making him look much older than twenty. 

Neither said any more. Jake just wrapped his arms around his boyfriend, holding his close to his chest. They said nothing as Rich cried into his shoulder.

The moment Christine saw Michael, she swore she said Jeremy sitting beside him. Everytime she saw a glimpse of his red hoodie, she was ready to see a boy in a blue jacket just behind. She couldn’t help the tears spill from her eyes when she realized there was no Jeremy, and she would no longer see his smile.

Michael spotted Jeremy across the street. Or, he thought he did. It was just Christine. He guessed he expected to see the tall, lanky boy next to her, holding her hand, despite the fact he knew he was dead. He knew. He couldn’t help the tears spill from his eyes when he saw it was just Christine, and he would no longer see his best friend’s lovestruck grin.

When Christine reached him, he held her. It was a tight, messy hug, with tears and gross sobbing. It was like the hug was all they had from falling apart.

Jeremy would be pleased to know that Christine and Michael had become best friends since his death. They had never been rude to each other, or jealous, but they’d been awkward. They were friends, of course, and got on fairly well, but there was this level of understanding between the two. Now the understanding was something much different.

“We have to tell him.” Michael whispered, and Christine just nodded. They would. They had to.

Brooke was smiling when it hit her, or rather, just before. She was spinning in circles through the snow, like a kid. She couldn’t help herself. She had finished recording her first album, and all she could think of was how she could be the next big thing, and sing her heart out, just like she’d told Jeremy. 

Brooke Lohst suddenly stopped smiling.

Michael and Christine had agreed before they even reached the house. Michael would do the explaining, and Christine would stay for emotional support. They took one glance at each other, before Michael knocked on Mr. Heere’s door.

Michael poured all the information about the Squip out. He told Mr. Heere about how the Squip made Jeremy suicidal, how he went insane trying to get it out. He told him about Rich, and his attempt, and it ended in tears.

There was this sort of relief, though, that made Mr. Heere relax, almost. It was the sort of feeling you get when you realize someone who’s mad isn’t necessarily mad at you. The odd sort of relief that his dead son held no grudge to his father. He broke down into sobs in front of Michael.

Jeremy must have been mad at Richard Goranski, though. Rich was sitting in his and Jake’s bathroom, holding a tissue to his face. His nose had started to bleed when he bumped it, and now he was crying, staring at the blood on the tissue. 

_ Rich had done nothing. He could have done everything.  _ If there was one person who blamed themself more than Jeremy’s father, it was Rich. He was the very last person to speak to Jeremy that day. The very last one. Their encounter ended with a hug, and Rich should have known then that something was wrong, but it wasn’t until Rich saw the body that it dawned on him.

Jake found him in the bathroom, opening the door, and causing his boyfriend to flinch. 

“Rich?” Jake said softly, kneeling down in front of him, and gently touching his face. 

Jake held him again, as Rich just cried into his shoulder. It didn’t even cross his mind that there was blood getting on his jacket. It was just them. 

And together they were  _ fire _ .

She could hear Michael talking, vaguely. Christine was standing in front of the wall, the one full of pictures. It was lined with smiling Jeremys, and one with a young woman and man, and their young son. One with Jeremy hanging upside down beside a little girl.

Then there was the one that her eyes landed on. 

Jeremy’s senior year, the picture he took to start the year off. He was grinning so wide, an excited look in his eyes. He knew school was almost over. Yet he was gone after the first semester. 

“No, Mr. Heere. It wasn’t you. It was this… This thing. A Squip.” Christine heard Michael’s voice just as soon as she started crying.

Jeremiah Heere was dead, and there was nothing his friends could do about it. Not Michael, who pretended to be bitter about the entire thing, and not Christine. Not Chloe Valentine. Not Jenna Rolan. Not Jake Dillinger. Not Brooke Lohst. Not Richard Goranski. No one could do anything.

Jeremy had lost.

Long after Christine and Michael had left the Heere household, long after Brooke had gone home and cried, long after Jenna turned off her phone and read a book, long after Rich and Jake went to be, Michael Mell stood in the bathroom, and cried.

He remembered how bad it had hurt when Jeremy look at him, dead in the eye, and called him a loser. The ache. They hadn’t made up before he died, not entirely. Sure, they were friends again, but they were never back to normal before he and Christine dated for a year. Before he died. 

He looked in the mirror, his eyes full of tears. They rolled down his cheeks, and he sobbed as he leaned over the sink. He loved Jeremy. He loved him. It hurt so bad. It hurt that they didn’t get a proper goodbye. It hurt that they kissed once and never talked about it again. It hurt that he didn’t get a text, or a hug, or a letter, or anything in goodbye from his best friend.

Jeremy’s father had gotten a handwritten letter. Jeremy had spoken to Brooke and Christine, had sent texts to Jenna, and Jake, and Chloe. His last words were to Rich, and Michael had gotten none of that. 

His last words to Jeremy were “see you soon”, two days before he died. There was no hug. There was no end conversation love confession. There was no kiss. There was no proper goodbye to the boy who was his best friend.

“I love you,” he whispered.

There was a brief second where he swore to everything he believed in, that Jeremy was standing just behind him. He saw him in the mirror, looking at Michael. He wasn’t smiling like Michael saw him when he closed his eyes. It was a smile, but-- it was sad. So unbelievably sad. 

Michael went to bed early that night. Now that sad smile was burned into his eyelids, and he softly cried himself to sleep.

Jeremiah Heere was dead. He knew this, as he watched his best friend fall asleep. If there was a way to speak to Michael, he would have told him that his letter was written too. It was there, just waiting in one of the game disks. It was Michael’s favorite, and he knew his dad would give it to him. 

The letter sat unopened in a box.

**Author's Note:**

> animatic- https://youtu.be/C36PbSqnw5E  
> my tumblr- @viv-thepinkninja


End file.
